


Better Days

by ThisisVenereVeritas



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things had been going so well in the New World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Days

Crocodile was a punctual man. The weather had gone awry, and it took nearly two hours longer to reach the designated island. If that wasn’t enough, reception had been less than adequate, and while Daz was busy steering through rough waters, Crocodile struggled to catch the address of the hotel that Doflamingo and his crew were staying. They reached the docks, but before either could set out they had to clean themselves of the brine that they collected during the storm. Daz understood the importance of these rare rendezvous and offered Crocodile to take as much time as he needed to prepare himself, though by this point the older man had given up making anything remotely close to the usual, arrogant impression. He soaked himself in scented bathwater, sighing and reminding himself how it was usually Doflamingo who was late to all their meetups.

After a quick soak, followed by another half hour attending to his appearance, Crocodile received a knock at his door and welcomed with more discouraging news. Daz informed him that Doflamingo failed to pick up, which meant he would have to figure out the right address to the hotel on his own. Crocodile was close to ripping his ascot from his neck when Daz mentioned that he’d spoken to a few of the local shipwrights and gathered a list of potential addresses. There were four upper-class hotels on the large island, and though they were scattered on opposite ends, Daz reassured Crocodile that between the two of them they’d find the right hotel.

With a tiny transponder snail tucked in his pocket, not to mention still a bit damp from his rushed bath, Crocodile was limited to traveling on foot. Though he hadn’t seen any marine ships, he was careful and took his time making his way through the town. _Who knows_ , he thought, _you might catch Doflamingo strutting about_ , but of course he didn’t spot the birdbrain or any of his equally ridiculous crewmates. He made a few stops to sneak in a call, but each time nobody picked up, and Crocodile continued to bottle his frustration until, _finally_ , the baby den den mushi went off.

“Hello?” Crocodile asked, doing a marvelous job not indicating just how close he was to breaking a neck or two.

“Boss,” Daz answered. “Have you reached one of the hotels yet?”

Crocodile flared his nostril’s, not caring for the burn the smoke left behind. “No,” he answered tiredly. “I’ve not. I take you have though?”

“Yes, and,” Daz hesitated for a second before sighing out the answer. “I’m sad to say the Donquixote crew have not taken residence here.”

“Ah, well…” Crocodile had to remind himself he was out in public and that slamming his hook against the wall would do nothing to help him. “Good work, Daz,” he said, doing his best to sound grateful. “I’ll continue on my way. I’ll let you know if I find the right one.”

“As will I, sir,” Daz answered back before quickly hanging up.

With one hotel down, and two on his list, Crocodile decided to head north. The first hotel was located in the middle of a busy shopping district. He passed by several boutiques offering up the latest trends, many of which Crocodile could not comprehend. But if Doflamingo was going to settle somewhere, it would be here. Doflamingo hardly ever spent his loot but when he did it was always on something hideous and over the top. He could envision Doflamingo and his crew picking through the racks and stacking up credit they never intended to pay for. Though Crocodile didn’t see anyone he ended up relying on the thought. Perhaps he wouldn’t have to defend himself for his unintentional tardiness if Doflamingo was busy distracting himself.

Between the gawking crowds, the busy hour of the day, and the buildings not indicating whether they were a fancy three-story shop or smaller hotel, it took Crocodile longer than he hoped to find the place. He walked in and was attended to by a clerk who recognized and feared for the worst. Her attitude worried him, and no sooner did she offer to take his coat did he ask in return whether or not another pirate had taken residence in this hotel. She wasn’t even aware that any pirates had arrived on the island. Crocodile said nothing as he turned himself around and left.

The weather was starting to cool, and the storm clouds that he and Daz had fought hours before were now making their way to the island. Crocodile could taste it in the air: he had maybe an hour or so before it would rain.

The den den mushi went off. Crocodile wanted to believe that it was Doflamingo. The bastard would be on the other line, laughing and listing off a reason of excuses why he wasn’t able to answer his calls. Doflamingo would throw a joke or two before giving his whereabouts to him, and once he was calm and finished insulting and chastising him, they’d meet and thing would _somehow_ work out for the better.

“Boss.” But it was Daz. “I’ve reached the second hotel and…”

Crocodile finished the sentence or him. “He’s not there,” he said, clenching the cigar so tight his teeth were sinking in.

“No.”

Crocodile looked up at the graying sky and sighed, louder than he intended, but at the same time, quieter and calmer than what he actually felt. “Thank you, Daz,” he answered. “Hurry back to the ship and clean yourself up.”

“Will do, sir.”

The last hotel was several blocks away, not too far from the coast. Daz mentioned offhandedly that it supposedly possessed a lovely view. Crocodile wasn’t sure why the thought reentered his mind, but when as he made his way over to the hotel, and he felt the cold winds push him, the salt in the air sting his eyes, he couldn’t help but remember. He edged his way closer to the coast, making the occasional glance at the ocean, his heartrate increasing when he didn’t see any ships with the Joker’s jolly roger.

He wondered if he had made some mistake. Perhaps he and Daz had landed on the wrong island. Maybe Doflamingo gave the name of another nearby island, and was patiently waiting for him just several nautical miles off to the west, or east or–? The weather was getting worse. Doflamingo could still be sailing towards this very island. The storm was just in his way. That would explain the reason why he hadn’t answered his calls.

Whatever the reason, once he reached the hotel, Crocodile found it difficult to take another step forward. It took him several minutes to get to the damn building, but he wouldn’t so much as lift his leg. What was the point? Crocodile looked up at the many window, counted the lights, and he lowered his head, stared down at the cobblestone flooring, and he just knew Doflamingo wasn’t in there. He wasn’t even on the damn island. Some ten, fifteen minutes passed by before he flared his nostrils and caught the scent of wetness in the air, bringing him out of his current state and warning him that if he was to move, now would be the time to do so.

So he took his step, leg heavier than lead infused with seastone, and he headed back in the direction of his ship.

Crocodile knew there was time before the rains would arrive. He could toss the transponder snail into the base of his hook and glide across the island. He’d have to be careful, but he’d make it at least halfway. He was fast enough. But he walked, and by the time he reached the ship he was drenched. The fur coat was ruined, and the layers underneath were suffering from the salty air, and chances were his leather shoes could not be salvaged. He didn’t care, and when Crocodile entered his quarters he tossed his coat to the floor, kicked his shoes and let them bounce and land wherever they pleased. He dressed himself in dry clothes, brought a towel to hair, and made his way to the lounge, determined to concoct something strong, warm and numbing.

By the time Crocodile took a seat on the couch, he was nearly halfway finished with his drink.

“Boss?”

When he heard Daz’s voice he lifted his drink up, sarcastically cheering before downing the rest of it. He did not make eye contact with Daz, instead gesturing for him to take a seat with him once he slammed his glass on the table.

“Bastard wasn’t there,” Crocodile said. He reclined further into the seat, spreading his legs just enough that it wouldn’t come into contact with Daz’s.

“I’m sorry,” Daz muttered.

Crocodile rested his head before letting out a soft chuckle. “Don’t be,” he said. “This was bound to happen sooner or later.” He blinked a few times, testing his strength before turning away from the ceiling, and over to Daz. “This isn’t the first time our miscommunication lead to some sort of issue.”

“It’s not?” Daz asked.

Crocodile grinned. “When you live nearly half a world away, and you have to rely on good fortune just see each other, problems are bound to arise.” He looked down at his glass. With an empty stomach the effects of it reached his mind faster than he could predict. “I do wonder,” he added, pulling the end of his bottom lip into his mouth before lightly biting the skin. “What went wrong _this_ time?”

“Sir?”

Crocodile chuckled again, this time by force. “I suppose I’ll find out eventually,” he said while laughing at Daz. “Knowing Doflamingo, he’ll pick up and lists off a number of reasons why things didn’t work out, and he’ll beg me to reconsider and put all the blame on him for wasting my time.” He looked at the den den mushi resting at the center of the table. “We’ll argue, as always, but by the end of it there will be another date for us to consider.”

Daz leaned forward and took the empty glass resting in front of Crocodile. He got up and headed back to the bar. Crocodile continued to stare at the sleeping snail. He wasn’t sure why he had said what he said to Daz. He wasn’t sure why he was still staring at the snail. He didn’t expect his confession to lead to a change, for the snail to wake up with news from Doflamingo. He didn’t want it to.

“Crocodile.” He broke away from the den den mushi and saw Daz standing above him, offering him a glassed filled with a dark amber mixture. “For you,” he said, extending his arm out further, pushing for his captain to take the glass.

“Thanks, Daz,” Crocodile said, taking the drink. He brought it to his mouth and took a hefty gulp before letting it settle in his lose grasp. “Thanks,” he said again.

“You’re welcome,” Daz answered too quickly. Crocodile turned and could see how distraught he made him. “Really,” Daz added, producing a small grin, “It wasn’t a problem.”

Crocodile stared at his drink. “What a waste of _our_ time,” he said.

Things had been going so well in the New World. Crocodile had learned something. Since breaking out of Impel Down he had improved, relearning the old ways of piracy and regaining parts of himself he lost through past failures. He had a ship, was feeling inspired and invigorated for the first time in years, and although he lacked a goal, he knew he wanted to keep sailing onward. He strived and he desired, and he was looking forward to catching that old flame that had seemingly died out years ago.

He felt Daz’s large hand rest on his shoulder, rubbing it softly. He did not say a word, and Crocodile decided to return the favor by keeping his eyes on his drink.

Things had been going so well, but he was still falling for the same old trap. Crocodile brought the glass to his lips, but this time he took a smaller sip. He closed his eyes and let Daz continue to soothe him, his grip on him soft, but not condescending. Crocodile nursed his drink and fell to the side until he met with Daz. He leaned on him, tired, embarrassed, upset and worn from a day that amounted to nothing. He rested on Daz, letting the hand resting on his shoulder ease and tell him what could not be said with words, not without coming off as disrespectful. Crocodile liked that about him, and if he weren’t already so out of it he would have considered thanking Daz again, this time for everything. Instead he remained silent, his body language doing what it could to express gratitude. He grew sluggish and relaxed. He hid behind the alcohol, burying himself into Daz’s shoulder, then chest, until he sank further and allowed the tears to talk for him. 


End file.
